


Look, but Don't Touch

by avidslashreader



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Strippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidslashreader/pseuds/avidslashreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes things are tight for the Winchesters. Dean does what he can to pull in extra money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look, but Don't Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to this prompt (http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/43792.html?thread=10696976#t10696976) at the spn_kink meme. The OP wanted a story about strippers dancing in sneakers and underwear so...yeah.

Dean doesn’t, as a general rule, pray for things. That said, right now as he’s tugging the clinging fabric away from his ass, he’s totally praying that Dad and Sam never find out about this. “This” being the way he’s hovering on the edge of a dimly lit room in some clingy white briefs that make him think more of the spider-man underoos Sammy used to wear than the sexy attire of a stripper. The man up on the bar, the man Dean is expected to go join, is stuck in the same number but unlike Dean he seems completely at ease writhing in front of the crowd dressed this way. Judging from the number of bills lining his “outfit” the crowd is pretty on board with it too.

Dean’s not a prude. He’s not. At 18 he’s been with women as old as his dad and spanked and been spanked and more than once he’s had a really aggressive chick straddle his face and make herself at home. He likes being naked or mostly naked, or really anything that hints at nakedness and sexyfuntimes to come. He reminds himself of that as he struts out towards the crowd, drawing no small amount of attention as he passes. The jacket and the Impala and the guns (because really, where would he hide one now?) may be gone for the moment, but he’s still Dean fucking Winchester. He’s faced down Werewolves. He shot his first ghoul at 12. He can climb up on a fucking bar and dance for a little cash.

It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like he’s running drugs or hooking or anything really bad and that and the fact that he might just walk out of here with enough money to get Sammy a new pair of soccer cleats are his only consolation as he climbs up, helped by some of the friendlier patrons who put their hands on his thighs and hoist him to his knees in front of them. He wobbles only slightly as he stands and the dancing man, “Steve” as he yells out over the music, puts and hand on his arm to straighten him. The problem is that the hand doesn’t pull away, and the longer it stays the twitchier Dean gets until his co-worker must either think he has a really fucked up tick or is a pathetic newbie about to run. In any case Steve moves closer and pulls Dean into a rhythm that involves a lot of the guy's hands brushing up and down his sides and the crowd whoops loudly and fucking eats it up.

He can feel both of their sneakers squeak along the bar as they rock, Steve’s broad shoulders and big-ass hands and muscular thighs brushing against him in ways that raise issues he’s going to need a whole lot of Jack to drown. He can’t be mad though, mostly because the guy is getting half the money he was before (the other half is being unceremoniously slid underneath the elastic of his own briefs) and he’s giving it up to help Dean through what would have otherwise been a pretty epic freak out.

Once he’s mellowed out some Steve backs off, gives him room to breathe and dance alone and he takes the moment and runs with it. He doesn’t look out into the crowd or listen to the awful music blaring a few feet behind him. He shimmies and rolls his hips and goes willingly when a pair of hands tug him downward, back onto his knees on the worn wood. He expects the guy to pull him off the bar, maybe into his lap if he has the balls for it. What he sure as hell isn’t expecting is the way the man gives one good tug on the elastic band and pulls it down below the swell of his ass, letting a few bills drop to the bar and exposing him to the crowd. Dean’s never really contemplated his ass beyond the occasional double-check for holes in his jeans or a tending of a bad bruise after sparring. As a ladies man Dean’s never needed to think of his ass in any special way but now, now that he can feel the eyes of a dozen strange men on Dean is thinking of his ass a lot, mostly of ways to cover it back up ASAP.

He figured when they gave him the job that there’d be groping, some harmless payback for all the strippers he’s felt up since he got his first fake ID three years ago. He figured he’d laugh it off. The way the stranger’s callused hand, so big and yet so different from Steve’s spans the width of one cheek, rubbing and tugging slightly like he’s going to spread Dean apart here and now has Dean’s stomach fluttering and blood rushing to his cock. Then the stranger does tug hard enough to spread him and Dean lets out a whimper, possibly the most unmanly sound he’s made in his life but it feels so damn strange. He can’t stop himself from tightening up, then he flushes wondering what that must look like from the other guy’s end. Apparently it doesn’t look too bad because the man leans forward, not touching more than before but just close enough that Dean can feel the hot breath burst across his bare skin and he has to clamp a hand down on his cock to keep from coming just like that.

Steve, who must have a sixth sense for new guy distress and deserves a prime spot in the stripper hall of fame, looks down in time to see Dean’s predicament and shuffles over around the grabbing hands.

“Phil, c’mon. Let the new kid go before you scare him off.”

Dean’s no longer anonymous molester doesn’t respond, but he must read the undercurrent of authority in Steve’s voice because the next second he’s pulling Dean’s briefs back up, getting in one strong stroke of Dean’s cock under the pretense of shoving the fallen bills back in and that’s all it takes for Dean to come, body tensing all over as he spurts inside the clinging cotton, across the money and Phil’s retreating fingers.

Dean is off the bar in a flash, no help needed this time around. He’s made it back to the changing room before the crowd can grab at him again. 15 minutes later when Steve takes a break and comes to check on him all he finds are a ruined pair of briefs and the otherwise empty lock they’ve been shoved into. Dean is well on his way back to the motel, and fresh bottle of whiskey in the passenger seat beside him and the money for Sammy’s shoes tucked safely away in his wallet.


End file.
